


broken dreams and shattered wings

by rebelkato



Series: broken dreams timeline [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Boys Inc, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Blood and Injury, Dadza, Dream Smp, Family Dynamic, Found Family, Gen, Ghostbur, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Violence, Non-Canonical, Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Power hungry, Protective Philza, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), but not graphic, dream's gone a little crazy, little mention of blood, not a happy ending sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelkato/pseuds/rebelkato
Summary: Phil loves his boys more than anything. He helped them, fought beside them. He would give up everything he has to protect them.Which is unfortunate, since they have an enemy that is prepared to take everything away.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Phil & Technoblade, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: broken dreams timeline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131536
Comments: 53
Kudos: 323





	1. pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a Tiktok I saw by @lukewarmherbaltea on Tiktok! Definitely check them out, she does great cosplay and they deserve way more followers. 
> 
> Also, this is my first fic in a long time, so please be kind :)

Smoke. That was about the only thing Phil could register above his thoughts, which were moving so quickly he could barely comprehend them. All he could really focus on was his sons. _He had to find his sons_ . The city around him was burning, the smoke forcing him to move on foot, his wings carefully folded behind him as he ran through the streets. He wouldn’t be able to see anything from the air, that much he knew. Techno and Tommy’s infiltration plan _had_ been going well until they somehow got separated from Phil. 

And now, all three of his sons were somewhere among the ashes and ruins. Without him. 

He dashed into a slightly more open area, grip tightening on his glistening blade as he glanced around him. Where _were_ they?

“Will?” He called, in a desperate, foolish attempt to find one of the eldest two. His voice bounced and tumbled across the scuffed stones and rubble, but there was no response. Worry flooded his mind and began to tie knots in his chest. Wilbur wasn’t responding, which was unlike him. It was far too quiet, too still. They had only been a few _yards_ ahead of him, they couldn’t have gotten that far. 

Something was very wrong. 

He paused, wrangling his rampant thoughts, listening carefully for any sign of life. Then, from behind him, the slightest scuff of heel on stone, and the twang of a bowstring. Phil whirled, raising his shield less than a second too late as an arrow lodged in the delicate working muscles of his left wing, right up against his shoulder blade. 

Pain shot through his body, sparking and splintering across his limbs as he screamed, falling to his knees. Fuck, _fuck._

There was only one person he knew who was that good of a shot that would also want to hurt him. He almost didn’t need to look up as he heard the sound of a sword dragging and skipping across the ground. 

He tried anyway, realizing with a sinking heart that pain and _something_ else was clouding his vision. That was _not_ a normal arrow. He could almost feel the poison seeping into his bloodstream from the wound, trying its best to shut him down completely. No, he couldn’t die here, not when his sons were still out there. They needed him. 

Barely, just barely, he registered footsteps coming towards him. They were light, cautious, clearly experienced, and on their guard. Gritting his teeth, Phil raised his head to look at them. 

He saw the blurry outline of a green sweatshirt and a wicked blade dragging along the grown behind them, the hilt hanging almost casually in their grip. And, further up, when he looked toward their face, Phil saw exactly what he expected to see. A white porcelain mask, one Phil knew had plagued his youngest son’s mind and nightmares for weeks. 

Dream. 

Phil curled his top lip into a snarl at the man that had caused so much pain to him and his family. He was going to hurt him _so badly_ for that. 

But before Phil could say anything to the bastard in front of him, Dream chuckled. Swung his sword from the ground to rest on his shoulder, barely missing Phil’s face in its arc through the air. 

“What.” Phil spat, trying and failing to push himself up. No, this was not good at all. 

“Oh, nothing.” Dream sighed, mockingly, shifting his weight into one hip. “Just...good to know the best way to capture a _pesky_ bird of prey is to shoot it in the wing.” Phil’s eyes widened, the implications of his statement sinking in as the hilt of Dream’s sword came down, down. The pommel crashed into Phil’s skull with a gut-wrenching crack, his eyes rolling back in his head. The older man collapsed to the stones, leaving the green-clad fighter standing by himself in the street. 

He smirked under his ash-dusted mask, the expression cocky, slightly crazed. Faintly, he heard panicked shouts coming from the streets around him, and the grin only grew wider as he gripped his prisoner by the feet and began to tug him away. Phil was going to pay for everything he had done.

* * *

  
  


The first thing Phil was aware of was a dull, pulsing pain in the top of his head. His eyelids were leaden, almost glued together as he attempted to force them open. He then began to be aware of a searing pain in his left shoulder, and a strange weight tugging both his wings to the ground. What the _hell_ was going on?

His senses began to return as he raised his hands to rub his eyes, the scent of smoke piercing his nose again. His hands stopped rising out of nowhere.

He heard the rattle of chains. 

It all came back to him. The boys, separating, the arrow. 

_Dream._

Oh no, no, _fuck_ , he had to get out of this, he had to get to _them-_

“Phil?”

His head snapped up, his eyes suddenly motivated to open by panic and surprise. It was Wilbur. 

The specter stood several feet away, wearing his familiar yellow sweater and wringing his hands, like he often did in his ghostly form. He had his head tilted in curious concern at his father, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the situation. That wasn’t surprising, he almost never did. 

“Will, thank God.” Phil’s sigh of relief rattled through him as he spoke. “Where am I? Where are-” Wilbur glanced to his side a bit, and Phil followed his gaze, the sight there stopping his sentence instantly. A sight that sent a chill through him, made him feel as though he was going to shatter. Tommy.

He was laying on the ground, clutching one arm that seemed to be horribly wounded, the other hand straining for his discarded sword. The boy was pale, and looked shaken up, but he was gritting his teeth and staring someone down with fury in his eyes. Phil continued to look past him, a few feet away, at what looked to be the end of a deadly duel. Techno, fallen to his knees, trying desperately to fend off a towering Dream. His armor, once perfectly polished and enchanted, was dull and scuffed, parts of it falling off his chest and shoulders. The sword he was fighting with was beginning to shatter under the ceaseless blows of his opponent. He glanced at Phil, a concerned check-in that faded to relief at seeing him awake, aware. 

There was something else in his face, behind the relief and obvious bloodlust that was controlling him. After a moment of trying to read his son, Phil realized. Fear. It was fear in his eyes, in _Technoblade’s_ eyes. But not for his own life.

For Phil’s. 

Phil’s heart almost shattered as he reached for his oldest, the chains holding him back from helping him, from helping _all_ of them. All he could do was cry “watch out!” a moment too late as Dream’s sword plunged into Techno’s side. He fell back with a gasp of pain, nothing more. 

It would have been so easy for Dream to finish him off right there, to _finally_ kill his greatest opponent. Techno was down. No one could help him. But he didn’t. He simply pulled his bloodied sword from the wound, iliciting another pained groan from Techno, and turned to face Phil. 

The older man tugged at the chains, testing their strength, foolishly hoping this was a dream, and that any moment, he would wake up, and his boys would be safe in their beds, out of harm’s way. 

Though, as Phil watched Wilbur jump and make a mad dash for Techno, Dream pulling out a bottle of water from his belt and beginning to uncork it, Phil realized that this was his worst nightmare. And it was reality. 

“Will, stop!” His voice sliced through the square, bringing Wilbur to an abrupt halt. He glanced back at Phil, then to Dream, finally seeing the deadly bottle in his hands. Wilbur took a few steps back, towards his father. 

“Dream?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as he stared at the one thing that could destroy him, in the hands of a very unstable man. Phil shook his head. The spirit of his son would never see the bad in people. 

“Will, back off. He’s dangerous,” Phil warned, his wings flexing instinctively, as if moving to create a shield for his son to hide behind. He hissed as the action flared his injury, sending a wave of dizziness over him that he struggled to ignore. 

“But...Techno needs help. He’s hurt.” Wilbur glanced back at his brother, who was rapidly weakening, his hair falling in his eyes.

“Yeah, _Will,”_ Dream crooned, “Listen to your _father.”_ He spat the last word, filled with contempt and venom. Wilbur had the good sense to flinch at that, making his way towards Phil at last. One was significantly safer. Now he just had to get to the other two. 

“What do you want from me?” Phil growled, keeping his eyes trained on that porcelain mask. He had always hated that thing, the stupid smile that hid every dangerous emotion that crossed the man’s face. That was what scared Phil the most. He could never tell what Dream was going to do next. 

Now was a prime example, as Dream began to laugh, walking away from Techno’s prone form. 

“What _do_ I want, Phil? Take a wild guess. Look at the people I’ve gathered and use your fucking brain.” He gestured to the barely living bodies he stood between, and Wilbur, who had placed himself at Phil’s side and was inspecting his injured wing with great concern.

“My family.” Phil’s voice was dark, seething with barely contained rage. The pain in his body was starting to fade, giving way to pure _fury,_ the bloodlust he was so familiar with. Dream had gathered and hurt Phil’s sons, and he was not going to get away with it. 

“Your _family.”_ He scoffed. “Quite the family you have. Each and every one of you has been an obstacle for me, in one way or another. Techno has been fighting against me every step of the way, and even when we were working together, we were enemies. Tommy and those discs, always undermining me, always threatening me. Hell, Wilbur was the one who started all of this with the first war. And you, Phil.” Dream resumed his path towards him and Wilbur, his sword once again resting on his shoulder. Blood dripped onto his sweatshirt, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “You’ve almost been a bigger problem than the others. Always sneaking around, helping them. You were the only one who knew where Techno was for a long time. You knew they were hiding Tommy, _knew_ about their plans against this place. Against me. You were well aware they were coming to take me down and take the discs back, and you _helped._ The man on the inside, giving them everything then needed, for _so long.”_ He came to a halt in front of his prisoner, almost deliberately letting his feet kick small stones into Phil’s face. Phil only glared up at him, refusing to show any fear. He was not going to let this man get to him-

“Hands off, Wilbur.” Dream snapped, looking beyond Phil’s strained shoulders. “Remember what I have.” The full weight of the chains suddenly dropped onto Phil’s wings again, weight he hadn’t even realized had been lifted. A hiss of pain escaped his throat as the wound seared with the new pressure, his head dropping and body trying to fold in on itself, protect itself. 

No. He had to be strong. For himself, for his boys. 

He heard a soft “Phil!” from behind him, but he quickly forgot about it as Dream crouched down to Phil’s level. He was far too close for comfort. Every fiber of Phil’s body was screaming danger, run, fight, but he _couldn’t,_ the wounds and the _damned_ chains keeping him in place.

“You are the reason I have to fight for my power while it slips through my hands. You and your _sons_ are the source of all my problems.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering with every syllable. “And for that, you are going to _pay.”_ He stood, giving Phil a cocky tilt of his head before turning his attention away from the older man. Phil followed his eyes to see Wilbur beginning to kneel beside Tommy, reaching towards the gash on his brother’s arm. No, Wilbur, you _idiot_ , _stop._

Dream reached for the bottle he had tied to his waist as he laughed, the sound almost completely unhinged. 

“I said, _hands off,_ **_Will._ ** ” He pulled the cork out, and Phil’s heart stopped. _No, no._

“Dream, stop, don’t do this, he didn’t do anything, _Dream stop-”_ His voice, suddenly panicked, made Wilbur turn his head. But Dream did not stop, and Phil couldn’t do anything as the man swung his arm forward. 

The water splashed over Wilbur. 

The drops began to eat away at his form, drawing horrifying lines down his face and body. Phils eyes were wide, he had seen this moment in his nightmares, his son dying over and over again. But now, as pain and shock crumpled Wilbur’s face, and he reached towards Phil in his final moments, Phil decided this was worse than his dreams. Far, far worse. 

“Will!” His voice wavered, reaching his hand towards Wilbur’s, wishing more than _anything_ that he could just _hold his hand_. 

After only a few seconds, the bright being was completely gone, and it felt like a piece of Phil’s soul went with him as well. A sob escaped his chest, a sound he couldn’t control. Techno began to stir at this, seeming to realize that something was wrong. 

Dream turned his attention towards him at the movement.

“Dream, _stop.”_ Phil’s plea was tear choked, as Dream tightened his grip on his sword and moved toward Techno. “Don’t do this, don’t hurt them, they didn’t _do_ anything.” Dream froze at that, turned to Phil again.

“That’s a lie and we both know it. Keep in mind they came here to save you, Phil. You brought them here, did this to them. It’s all your fault.” He then continued to Techno, who was struggling to push himself up and grab a nearby potion. Phil stupidly hoped he would reach it, his mind choosing to ignore how unlikely it was while he strained against his restraints. 

Dream reached Techno’s sided and planted a worn boot to his shoulder, sending him crumpling to the stones with a push. Techno looked towards Phil, his oldest friend and father figure, his face contorted in agony. 

_I’m sorry,_ He mouthed, showing Phil he had accepted his fate. No, no, no, he couldn’t give up, he was the _Blade_ for Christ’s sake.

“Dream, no, hurt me instead, _kill me instead!”_ Phil shouted, begging, fear tensing his whole body. He pulled against the chains, ignoring the slicing chains as he tried to help, tugging and straining in foolish hope that something, _anything,_ would give.

Nothing did. 

And Phil was forced to watch as Dream brought his sword down into Techno’s heart. 

The scream that tore through the air was shattering. The famed warrior, the Blade, his _son_ , finally breaking, showing weakness in his dying moments. Phil lost all control of his mind for a moment, all awareness leaving him. The sound echoed through his brain as he took in the sight of one of his sons reaching for him with their last breath yet again. 

That hand falling to the ground, lifeless. 

The world seemed to freeze. 

There was someone shouting, bellowing their anguish, and Phil realized it was him. His wings were flexing against the chains, making the existing wound worse as he tried to escape, to help, yet again. 

Dream ignored Phil, pulling his sword from the corpse and kicking it away in disgust. He turned to face Phil, and he saw that his mask was now dotted in blood. 

He continued to turn until he was facing Tommy. No, no, Phil couldn’t watch this again, couldn’t let this happen.

He could not let Dream be the victor in this narrative. 

“Dream, this is enough, I’ll do anything, just _stop.”_ Phil hated begging more than anything, hated giving this man more power, but he had to, for Tommy’s sake. 

His only remaining son was awake, having pushed himself onto his hands and knees, reaching for his sword. Dream came to a stop in the space between the boy and his blade, blocking his hand from making it to it’s goal. Tommy only looked up at him and scoffed. 

“I’m not fucking scared of you. Move so we can fight like men.” His words held no weight, though, Phil could tell. He was clearly shaken up and weak, so far in shock that all he could do was be brash and compensate. Phil summoned any strength he had left and pulled, flexing his healthy wing because he and Tommy both knew he would not win this fight. 

And finally, _finally,_ something gave a little bit. A weak link under his healthy wing. He began to pull more on that side, praying he could break free in time. His focus split in a way only a parent’s could. 

He could only watch as Dream scoffed, kicking Tommy’s sword further away. Before, that would have been a nail in Tommy’s coffin. But now, Phil had hope, hope that he could save his youngest son, and he continued to work toward that while watching the situation unfold. 

“Don’t pretend to be brave, Tommy,” Dream hissed. “I know how much I _scare_ you. He leaned down and rested a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. The boy flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t take his eyes off the mask. “So give in to the _coward you are_.” He growled the last words, putting all the force of his body into shoving Tommy back. The younger one caught himself on his hands, his eyes wide.

Phil felt the restraint break a little more. _Almost there._

“Try me, you cocky bastard.” Tommy’s retort was shakier than the last one. Dream stepped forward, resting his bloody blade under Tommy’s chin, leaning down slightly.

“Nice try, kid.” Tommy’s face crumpled at that. Phil’s mind was racing, he was clearly running out of time. “But guess what, Tommy? I have some good news for you.” Dream moved his blade down, the tip pressing into the dip between the teen’s ribs. 

“ _It’s finally your time to die.”_

The chain snapped, and Phil’s wing broke free. He snapped the rest of the chains with a powerful beat of the freshly freed wing that pushed him back with force the restraints couldn’t handle. He looked towards his son, fury blazing in his eyes. 

As Dream plunged his weapon into Tommy’s chest.

_No._

He was too late.

Phil began running to him while Dream pushed the boy off his sword. Tommy collapsed, his head hitting the ground with a crack that only made Phil angrier. Running on pure adrenaline, the need to _help his son_ , Phil shoved Dream away and fell to his knees at Tommy’s side. Phil grabbed at him with shaking hands, pulling him into his arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry,_ Tommy.” He was pushing back tears, tears of anger and sorrow and pain. Tommy only looked up at him with rapidly fading eyes and a small smile. 

“It-” He coughed, blood escaping his throat, stopping his words for a moment. “It was worth it, Phil.” He reached into a pocket and pressed a small metal object into Phil’s hand with feeble fingers. Glancing at it, Phil recognized the compass that his son had carried for weeks, the words “Your Tubbo” engraved in the top. It was his prized possession. A few tears slipped from Phil’s eyes, and he gently cupped his son’s face. 

“Kill the green bastard.” Tommy spoke with a mischievous grin, though it was weaker than normal. “And protect Tubbo for me.” A breath rattled out of his son’s chest, another. 

Then, nothing. 

Phil held him for another moment, his eyes squeezing closed to hold back tears, before gently sliding him to the ground. Slipping the compass into a pocket, closing his son’s eyes with trembling hands. Standing to face Dream.

Grief and anger forced his exhausted body to function as he growled, “You are going to pay for this.” He swung his fist towards the side of Dream’s head, an irrational blow his opponent easily blocked with the dull side of his blade. Dream’s other hand shot forward and twisted in Phil’s collar, pulling the man closer and off his feet. Phil was so weak now that the power to resist was gone.

“No, I won’t,” He seethed, pulling Phil’s face towards him. “Because _I’m not done yet_ .” Phil only scowled at him, preparing to use his wings to escape the man’s grip. He froze, though, as Dreams swung his sword around and rested it across both his wings, right where they connected with his body. “You see, Phil, I’m not going to kill you. Not now. I’d rather see you suffer, _alone,_ for the rest of your existence.” He applied some pressure to his blade, and Phil winced at the slight cuts that opened along the extremely sensitive muscle. This was bad. 

“But I’m also going to trap you. On the ground. With me.” 

What happened in that instant was something Phil would never, ever forget. He was thrown to the ground, barely managing to catch himself on hands and elbows that buckled as his head spun. He heard the sound of a sword swinging through the air with great force, and then unbearable agony as the great weight of his wings suddenly separated from his body. 

He collapsed. 

The world went black.


	2. pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Thank you all so much for the kudos and the kind comments, they were so amazing to read. I originally wasn't going to write more to this, but I was randomly inspired to do so. 
> 
> Also! My amazing friend made some fanart for the first chapter! You can check it out [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/CJZZ0qYFuWK/) and you definitely should! It's very good!

Phil had never understood how darkness could be described as suffocating. It had never really affected him, he had always been the one soothing others when it became too much for them.

But now, as he stood in it, alone, and his head was pounding and the abyss around him seemed to coat and muffle his senses, he understood. It felt as though the darkness was closing in, stealing his vision. He couldn’t just stand here any longer. He spread his wings and left the ground with a beat of them, hoping that there would be  _ something  _ he could see. Light, a landmark, anything. 

“Hello?” Phil tried his best to project his voice, but the darkness caught it and swallowed it entirely. Dread set into his bones. He was completely alone here. That thought was almost more terrifying than the darkness that surrounded him. 

Then, from behind him, a response rang out. 

“Phil?” They sounded confused, but they were close behind him. 

Phil knew that voice. 

He twisted his body around so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash, his wings making a sound as they sliced through the air. He blinked, not believing his eyes at first. 

There, several feet below him, was a familiar blonde boy, his blue eyes squinted up at Phil in confusion. 

“What are you yelling for? Something scare ya, old man?” Tommy grinned at him, and relief washed over Phil’s body. He swept back down to the ground to land in front of the boy, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Not scared, Tommy.” Phil ruffled his hair fondly. “Just lost, and thought I lost track of you.” Tommy laughed, a barking sound that seemed to bring light to the space. Phil’s smile grew. 

“Nah, Philza’s scared of the dark!” He pulled out his sword, brandishing it boldly in front of him, as if to drive off monsters that weren’t there. “Don’t worry, Phil, I’ll protect you-” Tommy’s eyes widened suddenly, his breath coming in choked bursts as he stared at something over Phil’s shoulder. Almost instinctively, Phil glanced behind him, and, seeing nothing, looked back to his son, slightly concerned. 

“There’s nothing there, Tom-” The bright face was gone, his head slumped forward, revealing a figure with a porcelain mask pulling his sword from Tommy’s back. Phil froze. This had happened before. 

No, no,  _ no, not again, he can’t watch this again.  _

He reached forward, a foolish attempt to grab the boy as the darkness closed in again, thinking he could grab him and fly him away, save him. And then, his back exploded in pure agony. 

Light began to pulse around him, and it seemed to be coming  _ from  _ him, casting Dream’s mask in flickering shadows. Phil could barely think, falling to his knees as the pain clouded his every thought. He couldn’t help but look behind him and his wings were on  _ fire,  _ the flames eating away at the delicate flesh and membrane. 

He was screaming without even realizing, folding in on himself, and Dream was laughing, and  _ oh god it hurt _ …

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  


Phil jerked awake with a choked gasp, his breath catching in his throat to the point where he started coughing. He sat up, trying to regulate his breathing, the fit passing after a few moments. Still coming to terms with the fact that he was awake, Phil pressed his face into his hands, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes to repress the tears that were already forming. 

Seeing Tommy’s face spiked Phil’s heart with guilt and sorrow every time it appeared in his sleep. He has dreams like that almost every night, and sometimes, it was Wilbur or Techno that emerged from the darkness, but it was most commonly Tommy. 

At first, it had been enough to make him refuse to sleep. But it slowed his recovery, and seeing the worry in everyone’s eyes eventually made him give in. 

He had woken up for the first time in a warm bed in L’Manburg, a concerned and exhausted looking Tubbo beside him. The boy had clearly been crying, and Phil knew it was his fault. He could barely look at him for the first few days, as he associated him so heavily with Tommy. 

He hadn’t stayed in L’Manburg for long. They had all said he was welcome as long as he needed, but it was just too painful. He’d left as soon as he could, taking some supplies and vanishing into the woods with vague promises to get some sleep and take it easy. Tubbo had attempted to follow him, but Phil turned him back, leaving him with a promise of communication. 

Phil sighed, swung his legs off the bed. His thoughts were spiraling. He had to get up. He braced his hands on the edge of the mattress and pushed himself up, maybe a little too hard, because he stumbled forward a few steps. Damn.

Even after the weeks he’d been recovering, getting used to the life he’d been condemned with, he still allotted way too much strength with every movement. 

He still moved as if he had wings. 

He wondered, absently, if he would ever stop doing that, as he arched his back, listening to the bones popped and realigned. With the movement, he swore he could feel wings stretch and spread to their full wingspan, like phantoms from days long gone. 

He wondered if those would ever stop, too. 

Phil sighed again, crossing the small cabin to find some food. He had built this cabin carefully, with some help from Tubbo and the others, close enough to L’Manburg that people could make it there in minutes through portals, but far enough away that he couldn’t see the towering buildings of the city. 

He didn’t especially like being alone, as the house was far too quiet, which felt extremely wrong after living with three boys for so long. But he also felt as though he deserved it, the painful silence. 

It also meant that no one would witness the nights where it all caught up to him, and he would collapse in the moonlight that cast shadows over his house, painful sobs bursting from his throat. 

“Fucking hell,” He mumbled, dragging a hand through his hair. His thoughts were really running rampant this morning. He glanced out the window and scoffed. Afternoon, apparently. This was much later than he had meant to wake up. That was alright, though, since no one was visiting him today. He definitely still had time to get outside and practice with the sword he’d made yesterday. 

Fighting hadn’t really become that difficult, it just required a lot more focus on his stance and balance. Phil worked that over in his mind as he puttered around the one-room cabin, gathering his shoes and hat and pulling them on. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t hear the jovial, slightly off-tune whistle that was approaching the building. 

Almost. 

  
  


Phil looked up from his shoes, his brow furrowing in confusion. Who the hell could that be? He reached for his sword without thinking, staying carefully crouched in the corner, as the sound came right up to his door and stopped. There was a brief pause, and then two sharp knocks. Then, as if the person on the other side was incredibly impatient, there was a brash “Hello?”.

Phil’s eyes widened, and then he was scrambling to his feet, running towards the door, his sword clattering to the ground, because he  _ knew  _ that voice, and he never thought he would hear it again. He fumbled with the doorknob, his hands shaking. When he finally opened it, he threw it to the side, likely a little too hard, because the figure on the other side jumped, a smile splitting their face.

“Ayy, Phil!” They exclaimed, throwing their arms out. Phil couldn’t believe his eyes.

Tommy. It was  _ Tommy.  _

He could only stare at the blonde, his  _ son,  _ standing in the doorway, his arms spread in a jaunty announcement of his presence. Phil blinked, incredulously, and he noticed a few things. The boy didn’t cast a shadow, and the sun beams passed through his outstretched arms, like a dusty window. There was a slight dip and tear in his shirt, in the center of his shirt, like a sword was pressed there. 

This was Tommy, but it also wasn’t. It was Tommy’s ghost. 

Tommy’s face fell slightly at the silence, his arms dropping to his side. 

“Phil?” He questioned, sounding slightly concerned. Phil couldn’t stop the giddy smile that crinkled his eyes as he stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. 

It was a strange thing to hug a ghost. It was almost identical to hugging a living being, but it was colder, and felt as though, if you applied enough pressure, you would phase through them. Phil was prepared for this as he embraced Tommy. 

What he didn’t expect was the pure fear that washed over his body with the contact. 

He jumped, but he couldn’t pull away, because the boy had wrapped his arms around Phil’s torso and was eagerly returning the hug. Phil forced his mind to calm down, pushing down the panic that wasn’t even his and letting Tommy decide when to let go. 

After a few moments, Tommy pulled back, and Phil’s head cleared. With control of his thoughts again, he very vaguely remembered a rumor that when you touched a ghost, you would feel what they felt right before they died. 

Was that what the fear was? 

The guilt swept in, like a wave of cold water over him. Phil couldn’t help but remember that he was the reason his son died in fear. But Tommy didn’t seem to remember, didn’t seem to hold any animosity towards Phil. If anything, he looked like his normal, jovial self. 

Without even realizing it, the stress and grief that had gripped him moments ago started to fade as Tommy completely altered the atmosphere of the room. 

“Tommy, I-” Phil paused, searching for the words, unsure of what he wanted to ask next. “What are you doing here?”

Tommy scoffed. “What, do you not want me here, Phil?” Phil smiled, ruffling Tommy’s hair out of habit. 

“Of course I want you here, mate, I’m just wondering how.” Tommy’s brow furrowed, and his eyes clouded over, like he was trying to remember something that was just out of reach. 

“It’s...I’m not sure how to explain it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he was embarrassed. Phil’s eyes softened, he understood. Expected this, after working with Will’s spirit for so long. 

“That’s alright, son. Why don’t you come in and we’ll try to figure it out.” He stepped to the side, allowing the specter to pass him and enter the little cabin. Tommy looked around, taking in every aspect of the room. Phil gave him a moment, turning away to absently wipe off the top of a table. 

A minute or so passed in silence before Phil heard a gasp behind him. He whirled, some fighting instinct kicking in as the sound made him think there was danger. 

Instead, he saw Tommy standing by a shelf, cradling a small object, his face painted in awe.

“Where- where did you find this?” He breathed, his eyes wide. Phil walked forward and saw that the object so carefully held in his hands was a battered compass. The one Tommy had given Phil with his dying breath. “I knew I was missing something.” His voice was so quiet that Phil could tell the words weren’t really meant for anyone. 

“You gave it to me.” Phil clarified, a sad smile on his face. “When you…” His voice trailed off, he couldn’t finish that sentence. As Tommy looked at him in confusion, he wished he hadn’t even hinted that there was more. 

“When I what?” Phil shook his head, looking away from him. That was pointless, though, as Tommy grabbed his arm and forced eye contact. There was blind determination in his eyes, something that Phil had commonly seen when he was alive. “When I  _ what _ , Phil?” Phil closed his eyes, hating the words before they even left his mouth. 

“When you  _ died,  _ Tommy. When you died in my arms because I failed you. I failed to protect you.” 

There it was. The words, the thoughts that Phil had locked inside his mind, never for others to have to deal with. Tommy’s hand fell from his arm, his stunned silence causing Phil to open his eyes and scan the boy’s face. 

“Oh.” Was all he said, his gaze turning to the compass again. 

“Tommy, I am  _ so  _ sorry, I fucked up so badly and it cost you your life-” 

“No.” Tommy waved a hand. “I wondered…” He scoffed. “I wondered why I woke up in the middle of the fucking woods when I last remembered being in Techno’s house before…” He trailed off again, and Phil watched him closely, searching his uncharacteristically solemn face for any sign of his thoughts.

“Before…?” Phil prompted gently. 

“Before we went to L’Manburg. For the discs.” He glanced at Phil, and there was clearly more he wanted to ask. He was wondering if he’d died there, but he seemed to be unable to vocalize it. Phil just nodded. 

Tommy fell silent again, and Phil could almost hear him processing, putting together the few pieces he had. 

“What killed me?” He mumbled, and there was animosity behind those words. Phil paused, trying to decide what to say, what if Tommy hated him for this, what if Tommy hated him already. 

“Dream.” 

That didn’t seem to shock Tommy too much, though when he spoke again, his voice was filled with fury. 

“He’s dead though. You avenged me.” They were confident statements, not questions, but when Phil didn’t respond, the confidence faltered. “Right? Right, Phil? He’s dead?” Phil shook his head, hating the look of hurt that flashed in Tommy’s eyes, just for a moment. “Why the fuck not? You’re strong, Phil, I  _ know  _ you can take him! Were you scared or some shit? Were you not angry that he just killed me?” 

“It’s not that simple.” Phil cut in, trying to keep his voice calm, keep the panic out of it. He could tell Tommy was rapidly losing all faith in him. “I was already hurt, and I just watched everyone die because of  _ me.  _ And then he vanished, and I was...recovering.” Phil left it at that, the words that had to follow it bitter in his mouth. 

“Recovering from  _ what-”  _ He hissed, and then his eyes widened as he finally noticed it.

How empty the room was, how small Phil seemed without the imposing presence of his wings. 

“Phil, I…” He paused, and Phil noted how his hands were clenching the compass, his knuckles turning white. “I’m going to kill that bastard, he’s going to pay for killing me and taking your fucking wings. I’m gonna find him right now, there must be some ghost shit I can do to find him. He can’t hide from me now. I’m a fucking ghost! I need a weapon, though, but you’ve got to have  _ something  _ lying around.” His eyes landed on the glowing purple sword laying on the ground where Phil had dropped it. “That’s perfect, that will cause the bitch some pain.” He slipped the compass into a pocket and pushed past Phil, still babbling, his plans becoming increasingly violent. 

“Tommy, wait, this is reckless.” Phil reached for him, but Tommy ignored him, picking up the weapon and inspecting it. Phil moved closer, trying to catch his attention. “Look, I know you want him dead, and trust me, so do I. But he’s  _ dangerous,  _ and rushing in to kill him with no plan is only going to get both of us killed-” 

“I don’t care, Phil!” Tommy finally turned to him, his aggressive tone catching Phil slightly off guard. “I’m a fucking  _ ghost,  _ he can’t hurt me!”

“ _ Yes,  _ he  _ can,  _ Tommy. He knows how.” Tommy began to protest, but Phil continued. “That man is deranged. I am not going to let you run into this unprepared.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Phil, I’m not unprepared. He won’t expect me, I’ll catch that fucker off guard!” He brandished his sword, and Phil remembered a dark clearing and burning wings, and he fought the urge to snatch the weapon from his hands like a small child. 

“ _ No,  _ Tommy! I’m not going to lose you again!” He snapped, his voice slicing through the air. The room fell silent, the weight of those words hanging between them. 

In the sudden quiet, both picked up on a sound that had previously been too light to hear. Footsteps, two sets, Phil guessed, currently sprinting towards the house. Phil barely had time to process this turn of events before the door flew open.

Tubbo stood there, his eyes wide and expression harried, with a winded Ranboo towering behind him. 

“Phil!” He cried, breathless, and there was panic in the tone as he paused, looking to the other figure in the room. He froze, the two teens staring at each other in shock. 

“T-Tommy?” He breathed. It was clear he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Tommy’s face cracked into a wide grin. 

“Who else?” He laughed, and Tubbo gasped, his eyes widening more, if that was possible.

“Tommy!” He cried, and he dashed forward, almost knocking the specter over as he hugged him. Phil smiled, but it was sad, as Tubbo jumped and jerked away almost immediately, as if he were electrocuted. He had felt the same terror that Phil had, and it startled him. 

“I can’t- What are you doing here?!” 

Tommy laughed, but he couldn’t mask the slight hurt in his face. “Why do people keep asking me that?” Phil chuckled, before glancing at Ranboo, wide-eyed in the doorway, and remembered the panicked way the two had shown up. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. Tubbo, especially, jumped at the noise, also seeming to recall the reason he was here. He turned to Phil, who only cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the boy to talk. 

“Phil, we need you back in L’Manburg.” He glanced at Ranboo, who nodded, before he continued. 

“Dream is back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's part two done! I'll hopefully have the final part out in the next week or so. 
> 
> If you guys want to, I've been more active on Twitter. If you want, you can follow me [here](https://twitter.com/watchmefail_ha) or @watchmefail_ha. Feel free to say hello!


	3. Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight that Phil has to engage in, whether he's prepared or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know I said a week and it definitely took longer than that but uhh school started again so that delayed things a bit. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos, and I hope you enjoy!

“Dream is back.” 

Phil could have sworn his heart stopped as those words tumbled from Tubbo’s throat, Tommy pausing in a brief moment of stunned silence. No, this was  _ horrible  _ timing, Phil wasn’t ready for a  _ fight,  _ especially against Dream. 

He fought to suppress the rising panic in his chest as he so clearly saw that damned mask, the one that haunted his dreams. His thoughts raced, fears and possibilities swarming, suffocating each other with increasingly worse situations. 

“We don’t know why he’s here.” Someone, Ranboo, piped up, breaking the silence. Phil jumps slightly, the abrupt pull from his thoughts catching him off guard. He took a deep breath, re-aligning himself. Focus. He had to focus, ask questions. He had no choice but to be prepared. 

“Did- did he talk to anyone? Do anything?” Phil’s question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but Tubbo was the one who answered. 

“No! He just...appeared. Didn’t speak with anyone, didn’t go anywhere. He was just wandering around the main square last time we saw him.” He paused, and Phil could tell he was leaving something out. Tubbo had similar body language, similar tells to Tommy, and Lord knows Phil had caught  _ him  _ in lies and half-truths plenty of times. 

“Is there more?” He forced his voice to be gentle despite his racing heart. Tubbo looked at him, his hands suddenly shaking. Tommy noticed this, his brow furrowed in concern as he stepped forward and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder with a rare display of care. Tubbo jumped, his eyes widening. 

“You can do this, Big Man.” Tommy reassured, a small smile on his face. Tubbo nodded, but he was tenser than before, fear lacing his whole body. 

“Let’s give him some space, Tommy.” Phil murmured, waving a hand absently. Tommy looked confused, but he listened, Tubbo’s shoulders relaxing almost instantly as Tommy’s hand moved away. The brunette sighed, the breath before he spoke still slightly shaky. 

“I- I went to see him, in the square. I asked him what he was doing here, and he just  _ shrugged.  _ He just stared at me like I was stupid before he burst out laughing. He asked- he asked me why I looked so sad when-” He paused, taking another shaky breath. There were tears forming in his eyes, his voice catching in his throat. 

“You’re alright, Tubbo.” Phil supplied. “He’s not here, he won’t hurt you.” Tubbo glanced at him and gave him a grateful smile. 

“I- I know. It’s just…he asked me why I looked so sad when- when he had finally brought peace to my country.” 

The true meaning of “bringing peace” settled in Phil’s consciousness like a stone. With it came pure fury, anger like he hadn’t felt in weeks. 

“You mean to tell me that  _ bastard  _ considers himself a  _ savior? _ A  _ hero _ ?” His hands are shaking with poorly contained rage, and as he glanced down at them, he could almost see the blood that had coated them, hear the screams of his sons. He scoffed. A hero. Dream really had lost his mind. 

“I am gonna murder that fucker.” Tommy declared. Tubbo’s eyes widened. 

“Tommy, no-” 

“Absolutely not.” Phil cut in, stepping forward and snatching the sword from his hands, ignoring Tommy’s indignant “Phil!” upon the weapon leaving his grasp. “We’ve already established this, Tommy. You are not going to fight him, I will not let you. Any of you.” He turned to the other two, both far too young for him to allow anywhere near Dream and a sword. Ranboo nodded silently. He understood. 

  
  


“What are you going to do, Phil?” The tall figure intoned, his voice even and concerned as he took a small step towards Tubbo. Tommy still looked inclined to complain, but with Ranboo’s words, he shut up. Listened to Phil’s next words. 

“He’s had far too much freedom for too long. He is going to pay.”

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  


Stepping into L’Manburg, the tension in the air settled over Phil’s skin like a too-thick blanket. The entire city was coated in caution, like the buildings and stones knew danger wandered the streets with a porcelain mask. 

Tommy walked along behind him, strangely silent. Phil had tried to convince him to stay just outside the city with Tubbo and Ranboo, but the stubborn boy would only agree to not fight Dream if Phil brought him along. Phil had reluctantly conceded, handing him a light helmet in a stupid attempt to protect a ghost. 

Now, they roamed through the disturbingly empty city, searching for Dream. Though Phil didn’t want to admit it, he was very afraid of this confrontation. He could still vividly see that mask, splattered in Tommy and Techno’s blood, slicing Phil’s wings from his body. His shoulders twinged with phantom pain at the memory right as Tommy broke the silence. 

“Where do you think he is?” His whisper was harsh, the tone completely destroying any attempts at making it quiet. 

“I think I know. I don’t like it, but I have a pretty good idea.” Phil responded, his voice actually hushed. 

Dark clouds began to roll in, the threat of an afternoon storm just adding on to the already long list of threats that followed them as they wove through the streets. 

“Don’t let him see you when we get there.” Phil intoned softly, to which Tommy nodded in response, though it was obvious he didn’t want to agree. 

They rounded one last corner and Phil felt his heart sink as that horrible square came into view. The open space in the city where everything had been taken away from him. He took a deep, shaky breath, and stepped into it, hoping more than anything that  _ he  _ wouldn’t be there. 

He was.

Leaning against a wall, his hood up, shadows grazing over that god awful mask. One arm was crossed over his chest, where he absently picked at the skin around his nails. He didn’t seem to be holding a weapon, but Phil noted a leather strap that crossed his shoulder, which could be a sword. Phil waved a hand behind him to keep Tommy hidden in the shadows. 

Dream glanced up at the sound of Phil’s feet scuffing against the stone, and though his face was hidden, Phil just knew he was smirking. He pushed off the wall, coming fully into the light.

“Just the person I’ve been looking for. Where have you been hiding?” His voice was dangerously casual as he addressed Phil, like they were simply old friends. Phil fought back a look of disgust.

“I live outside the city.” He responded, deadpan. Dream scoffed, but it was forced. He was ignoring the animosity in Phil’s tone, his stance. 

“Why wouldn’t you? It’s so nice and quiet.  _ Peaceful _ .” 

There it was. That  _ word,  _ the triumphant, lilting undertones in his voice. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

“What are you doing back here.” Phil snarled, tightening his grip on his sword. He was not here to  _ chat. _

“What do you mean? I’m allowed here. I’ve done more for this place than anyone else.” Dream spread his arms around the desolate square, the grey clouds above him, as if showing off. “I brought peace to this place, after all.” Phil felt anger rise in him again with those words, but he wasn’t going to repress it this time. 

“Peace? How delusional are you?” He spat. Dream jumped at the sudden rise in volume. “You killed Tubbo’s best friend, you crippled me and  _ killed my family. _ ” Dream tensed, and he seemed to register the sword in Phil’s hand and the rage that crumpled his face for what it really was. 

“I’m not the delusional one here, Phil.  _ Everything  _ I did was for the good of this country.  _ You  _ were the ones causing problems that  _ I  _ had to solve. 

“Don’t twist this to fit in your convoluted narrative.” Phil took a step towards him as he spoke, holding his sword in front of him. “You are not in the right here. You  _ killed  _ innocent people who did not deserve it, who did not deserve to lose their second chance. And I intend to make you pay.” 

Dream did laugh at that, but it wasn’t a laugh of humor. It sent a chill down Phil’s spine. 

“What are you going to do,  _ Philza _ ? Kill me?” He reached over and pulled out a sword from exactly where Phil had thought it would be. He recognized it as the dark, wicked blade that had stolen his wings and the life from his sons. “You’re weak. You couldn’t even hurt me if you tried.” Phil could hear the sneer in his voice, Dream practically oozing arrogance. “You weren’t even strong enough to save Tommy and Techno from the fate they  _ deserved _ .” Phil felt his control snap, and he was raising his sword when another voice rang out.

“Oh shut up, you bastard!” Tommy, always the loud one, stepped from his hiding spot. Phil cursed inwardly. Though it didn’t really surprise him, Tommy had never been good at following instructions. 

Dream, however, seemed actually shocked, staring at the ghost. There was his chance. Phil rolled his eyes, unable to fight the grin that rose on his face as he lunged forward, taking the opportunity that Tommy had given him and striking at Dream’s chest. 

Dream noticed at the last second, jumping backwards so the blade merely sliced his sweatshirt. “That was a low blow, Phil.” He snarled.

“I didn’t come here to fight fair,  _ Dream, _ ” Phil spat in response, darting forward again. Dream pulled his sword up to block Phil’s, their blades meeting with a sharp clang right as a peal of thunder tore through the sky. Their blades crossed, Phil pushing forward, forcing it towards Dream’s face with all the force he could muster. They clashed there for a moment, too evenly matched for either one to get a lead. 

Dream was the one who gave in first, pushing both of their swords up and away from him with a grunt of effort. As Phil’s blade swung upwards, it caught on the leather strap of Dream’s mask, tearing the cloth in half and leaving a light scratch on the side of his head. 

The mask tumbled down in almost slow motion, hitting the ground and shattering into dozens of pieces as lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the shards in horrifying shadows. Phil barely registered that, though, as he stared at Dream’s shocked face. 

God, he looked so  _ young.  _ His green eyes were wide, surprised at the sudden weight off his face, and, somehow, Phil forgot about how dangerous he was. He reminded Phil of Wilbur, looking both at home and so out of place in battle. Part of him regretted wanting to kill Dream in the first place. 

Dream did not share the same sentiment. His shock faded quickly, his face melting back into that determined, blood-thirsty, slightly crazed look. He darted forward, aiming to deal a blow the could seriously injure Phil, heading straight for his chest. 

Phil flinched away with a jolt that destroyed his balance but probably saved his life. He stumbled back a few steps and ignored Tommy’s concerned cursing as he desperately tried to regain his full footing. Dream only smirked at Tommy’s outburst.

“Was it really a good idea to bring him here? He’s quite distracting. I’m getting inclined to silence him again.” He mused, letting his head tilt to the side. Phil snarled, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. 

  
  


“I won’t let you get the  _ chance. _ ” He swung his sword over his head, down towards Dream, who blocked it. Phil only gritted his teeth and twisted his whole body around, bringing the sword with him and landing a decent blow across Dream’s shoulder. Dream hissed in pain, but it barely seemed to affect him as he moved forward, a slightly more determined look in his eyes. 

They clashed for what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, moving across the square in a deadly choreography. Unlike Phil had expected, there was very little banter, probably because they were both so focused on their next move. Each fighter had slightly injured the other, Phil now sporting a few light cuts and a nasty gash on his lower left arm. Dream’s injuries were similar, but he didn’t seem to care. There was very little sanity behind his eyes. He still fought as if he had just swung his sword for the first time. That was not good for Phil, who was slowly beginning to wear down. 

He needed to mortally wound Dream, and he needed to do it soon. 

Phil was so focused on this and quelling the rising panic that he barely noticed the next rumble of thunder and flash of lighting. But he did notice the sudden onslaught of rain, pouring out of nowhere and landing in chill drops on his nose and shoulders, the ground becoming slightly slippery under the water. He didn’t think anything of it until there was a slight hiss of pain from the edge of the square. 

Tommy. 

Out of some parental instinct, his head snapped towards the ghost right as Timmy stepped under the nearby overhang of a roof, rubbing his wrist lightly. Good, he was safe. 

He turned his attention back to his opponent and  _ oh shit Dream was gone.  _

Phil tried to listen and glance around, pointedly ignoring the worsening dread in his chest. He heard the scuff of sho on stone behind him, but before he could turn, he heard the slice of a sword through air and a panicked “Phil!” from Tommy. Phil lurched forward to avoid the blow out of instinct, knowing his wings would catch him. 

He remembered too late that his wings were gone. 

He hit the ground, fighting the urge to try and catch himself so he didn’t break his wrists. Slightly dazed, he pushed himself onto his knees, grasping desperately at his sword. Faintly, he heard  _ get up, Phil  _ in the back of his head, and he wondered dumbly if he had hit his head because  _ wow  _ that sounded a hell of a lot like Techno. 

He was vaguely aware of an oddly familiar presence behind him, and then the voice spoke again, slightly frustrated.  _ God, Phil-  _ **_roll to your right_ ** . 

Without thinking, Phil obeyed, rolling to the side just before Dream’s sword hit the ground where he had just been with a clang and an angry huff from its wielder. 

Phil glanced around wildly, that  _ had  _ to have been Techno he heard, no one else sounded like that. But the imposing warrior was nowhere to be seen in the rainy square or by Tommy’s side. Phil must be hearing things, relying on fake guidance from his son because he was so stressed. 

He didn’t have time to fully comprehend that, though, because there was still the threat of Dream rapidly approaching him. He shot to his feet, ignoring the slight tremble in his left hand from the aggravated wound on that arm. Dream looked even more pissed, his face wild with either adrenaline or insanity. 

There was a pause, just a split second, the rain pouring down around them, when Phil could have  _ sworn  _ he saw the edge of a red cape in the corner of his vision. He didn’t get a chance to look towards it before he had to duck under a swinging sword. The battle continued. 

There was something different, though. Dream’s sword would occasionally swing in unnatural angles that  _ barely  _ missed killing Phil. Once or twice, Phil’s hand steadied as he stabbed towards Dream, shifted slightly as if someone was guiding his arm with a gentle hand. 

More than once, he heard Dream mutter “what the  _ fuck _ ” when an especially promising move missed by an inch. Phil didn’t question it, didn’t want to. He just knew that it was helping. 

This odd puppeteer-esque presence resulted in Phil placing two good injuries on Dream’s face and chest. That wasn’t important to Phil, though, because he had noticed something. 

With his mask on, Dream had been an unpredictable force, terrifying and almost impossible to defeat. He must have grown reliant on that covering, because now that Phil could see his face, he almost had a map of Dream’s next move. Phil chided himself for not noticing earlier, but he was going to use it now. 

He spent the next few minutes taking a defensive approach, much to the frustration of Tommy, and observed Dream for any more tells. There weren’t many others of note, with the exception of one, one that had the potential to flip the tide of the entire fight. 

Dream’s biggest moment of weakness was always right before he swung his sword, just a slight moment of hesitation. Exploiting it would be extremely dangerous. 

But it was the best chance Phil had.

The next time he caught that moment, Phil lunged forward instead of falling back like Dream expected, aiming to shove him over and knock his sword away. He succeeded, sending Dream slamming to the rain-soaked ground, his sword skittering away as the wind was knocked out of him. There was something else, though, a burning pain across his chest, and when he reached toward it, his hand came away red. 

Dream had hurt him. Badly. 

He must have pulled his sword across Phil’s torso as he fell, missing Phil’s heart by less than an inch but still badly wounding him. Phil pushed down the urge to retreat and grab a potion from Tommy because now, wound or not, he had the advantage. 

His vision tunneled, completely ignoring the panicked cry that came from Tommy and rapidly fading footsteps. He just walked over to where Dream had fallen and kicked his sword away before he could grab it. That didn’t seem to phase him, there was only smug triumph and slight madness in Dream’s eyes. 

He stayed unafraid, even as Phil pressed a foot on his chest and pushed the tip of his sword just under Dream’s chin. It was horrifying to see him like this. Facing death head-on with wild eyes and a slightly bloody smile. He smirked at Phil, tilting his head back so the skin of his neck barely grazed the blade. 

“Go on, then. Kill me.” He spat. “No matter what, I’m taking you with me. That’s a win in my book.” 

It hurt to admit, but Phil couldn’t deny that, couldn’t deny that his world was beginning to twist and blur, his body becoming increasingly hard to control. He took a breath, managed to pull himself together for just one more minute. That was all he needed. 

“You are a plague,” He spoke, his voice surprisingly steady for a rapidly dying man. “A nightmare that has walked this land for far too long.” 

With that, he pushed his sword down, seeing spots with the effort it took. He blinked, sluggish, vaguely aware that he was falling and someone,  _ Tubbo, maybe,  _ screamed his name, and then he had  _ wings again.  _

  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  


Far away from the square, a slightly blurry figure watched Phil crumple to the ground beside Dream’s body. He longed to go help him, but there wasn’t enough of him left to save Phil. 

He saw three figures burst from a side street, Tommy and Tubbo and someone very tall that he didn’t know too well, the distant people bearing potions and hope for Phil’s life.

He smiled, slightly sad, worn from speaking into Phil’s mind and shifting the fight with carefully placed interference. It had been worth it, though. Phil had won. His unfinished business was finally complete. As their spirit began to fade, his red cape shifting slightly with the wind, the storm began to break, the rain slowing and sun bursting through the clouds. 

He smiled even wider when Phil stirred, weakly, grabbing one of the figure’s hands as a potion took affect. He strained to send one more thought to the man that had almost given everything for him. 

_ For you, Phil, the world. _

And he was gone, unseen to everyone but there for the one that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! This is definitely not the last thing you'll get from me, I have some other short ideas in the works. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Follow me on twitter! @watchmefail_ha

**Author's Note:**

> And that's that! I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading. I'll try my best to respond to any comments :)


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